Living through the burn

Posted Wed 06 Feb
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Today, I was quite chuffed to have a procession of (chick) volunteers to speak (for that was the intention) some of my words for me. (And appreciation is due to those others who don’t work in the office who got sound files to me. All gratefully welcomed, and used. More on that soon.) I managed to rope in a few more (with not much coercion at all!) than I originally asked, and that was All Good.

Most of them asked me to leave the room while they recorded their voices, but that is fine, I understand that entirely. I (probably) would have requested the same. But this post isn’t about them. For their time in the limelight (ha! I wish) will come soon. No, as per normal, this post is about me. Me, I say, me!

Now, having played in a band, and listened to my lyrics being sung, you would have thought I would have gotten over the shame/embarrassment/odd feelings. But no. I haven’t. The one who did let me sit in with her while she spoke might not have noticed me having a flush of the cheeks. To hear someone recite what you have written is very, very strange. (And a fine editing process, as it happens, as I can now see the clumsy parts.) Just like recording yourself and playing it back, using that as the learning feedback loop.

But you know what? I was also quite proud. The words sounded not too angsty, my coven all read well and, most impressively, they were reading my words.

But to spiral out slightly, I seem to be getting more flustered, stressed and overall nervous in certain situations. (cf: at mine and second male child’s belt grading recently, I was veritably shaking when I was done. It was an odd sensation.) What is going on there then? Has this latest reinvention gone a bit too far? Withdrawl and unwinding. I am fine in social settings, with those I know. Nothing different there. Please, don’t think I can’t hold court, drawing hard on my pipe, gently rocking back and forth on my chair, tell tales of my time at sea. I still can. But I only tend to engage the random nutjobs in arguments. More is the pity. All very odd. I ponder myself. Again.

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